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The moon is high when Jayce's clumsy hands, struggling to keep hold of his keys, find the lock to the apartment and his shoulder bumps the door loudly, earning a suppressed snort from Viktor. He shushes him and stumbles back into his chest slightly, if only to imagine the way he rolls his eyes and feel warm arms around his middle, one below his chest and the other just above his hips. Nose tucked into the faux furs warming his collar, Jayce reaches up to ruffle the snow-flecked hair at Viktor’s nape.
“I’m tryin’ my best,” he complains, and Viktor shakes his head slightly.
“You are intoxicated, that is what you are.”
Still fumbling with the deadbolt, he grumbles, “And you’re not?”
“I said no such thing.” It’s punctuated by a squeeze to his gut, which makes him want to jump, but Jayce tamps down the urge and tries to focus his blurry eyes on the key that is going absolutely anywhere but the lock. “Would a light help?”
“‘Would a light help?’” Jayce mocks him in a moment of perfect maturity. “Yes, it would have helped about thirty seconds ago, Viks.”
The key slots in and a little shower of frost comes off the housing. As though his body has caught the memo, a shiver wracks him and Jayce splutters out a curse, abandoning dexterity in favor of simply grabbing Viktor around the wrist and dragging him into the apartment. Thankfully, with the Tempest’s touch, the snow and cold won’t follow them over the threshold and he reminds himself for a millionth time to fashion something for her, something useful and pretty and more than the usual half-assed trinket he’d slop together for anyone else.
Well.
Almost anyone else, he corrects, watching as Viktor sheds his heavy coat and all his sharp lines and harsh angles are highlighted in the pale moonlight filtering in from the window. His eyes are half-lidded, exhausted from both the alcohol as well as the sheer amount of people packed into Caitlyn's "little" get-together. Still, shock-blue in the dim light of their shared home, familiar now in a way that he once thought it never would be, wandering down the expanse of his arm, cold in the bitter weather.
He melts a little under Jayce's hands, leaning back into his chest and letting out a faint but undoubtedly pleased sigh. Smoothing his palms up the polished metal of his forearms, he tugs him a little closer and buries his nose in his shoulder and it prompts a short giggle from Viktor.
"Tickling me," he complains, but squeezes Jayce's wrists just the way he always does. At the playful fingers at his ribs, he squirms and turns in his hold and accuses, “Jayce!”
"Can't help it, you're so cute, all red in the face."
His blush darkens a bit and he makes a poor attempt to hide behind one hand, an attempt that Jayce stops before it’s even done, ducking in to kiss him on the cheek and laughing all the while. Viktor laughs too, faint little things with that rasp that never seems to leave his voice no matter the weather. Wrapping his arms tight around him, face resting somewhere on his neck, Jayce merely breathes him in for a long moment and the scent of joint lubricant and the cologne he’d gifted him some months ago is barely there after so many hours.
“You are rather affectionate.”
“What, I can’t indulge anymore?” Jayce mumbles, and brushes his lips over his gentle pulse. “After a whole night of behaving?”
Viktor hums. “Who would I be to deny you?”
“My partner, for starters.”
Snorting, he walks them backwards, in the direction of their room that is undoubtedly warmer and holds promise of finally being off his feet. “Obviously.”
Turning as his back touches the door, Jayce guides Viktor, in all his wobbly balance, safely over the little strip separating the tile of the living room and the hardwood of their bedroom. He doesn’t fidget much as he begins unbuttoning his shirt that’s managed to gain an impressive amount of wrinkles from all his slouching, and the glow of the shard embedded in his chest is soft over his features. Jayce runs his hand down the length of his torso, down to the curve of his hip and he curls his fingers there lightly.
Viktor looks back at him curiously, tilting his head down to get into Jayce’s line of sight. His brows are knit and it’s thoughtless as he reaches up to smooth out the little crease between them.
“Quit, your face is gonna get stuck like that,” Jayce chastises.
The corners of his mouth turn up slightly. “At least it would be how I look most often.”
But he knows that’s not true. Maybe around other people, sure, especially around Piltover’s group of pretentious morons that call themselves scientists. Jayce fights an eye-roll at the mere thought.
He knows how soft his features go when he’s utterly lost in sleep, how many years seem to slip from his face. It’s not so far off now, anyhow, Viktor’s always got this particular expression when he looks at Jayce and it kind of makes him fall in love all over again, every time. Intrigue, fondness, some little hint of warmth that’s reserved specifically for him.
“Off in the stars again?” Viktor teases him.
Those same words, from so many eons ago. When Jayce was infinitely more insufferable and Viktor’s hair was short.
“Off in the stars again,” he agrees. “If only there were an anchor here.”
The hug is just a tad too enthusiastic and all the wind goes out of him as his back hits the bed. “Ow, my whole body.”
“Oh, the drama.”
And neither one of them quite find their way out of the rest of their clothes before sleep overtakes them.
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Jayce wakes to a kiss on his nose and he reaches up, hands finding shoulders and Viktor comes crashing down onto his chest.
“You are incredibly lucky that I put the coffee down.”
“What in the world are you doing awake?” Jayce groans. Then, immediately, “Fucking hell, my head.”
Rubbing his cheek over the sleep-mussed mess of curls on Viktor’s head, he gets another kiss in return, this time to the back of his hand. “I figured that would be the case. Come on, sit up and get some painkillers in you.”
“My hero.”
Viktor wrinkles his nose at him. “Incorrigible.”
“Thesaurus.”